


The Man You'll Become

by shutterbug_12 (shutterbug)



Category: West Wing
Genre: Backstory, Childhood, Children, Gen, Political Campaigns, Politics, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbug/pseuds/shutterbug_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Leo meets Josh, he unknowingly catches a glimpse of the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man You'll Become

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://bullet2.livejournal.com/profile)[**bullet2**](http://bullet2.livejournal.com/) for [](http://helpthesouth.livejournal.com/profile)[**helpthesouth**](http://helpthesouth.livejournal.com/). Many thanks to my betas, [](http://daisykatherine.livejournal.com/profile)[**daisykatherine**](http://daisykatherine.livejournal.com/) and [](http://fromiftowhen.livejournal.com/profile)[**fromiftowhen**](http://fromiftowhen.livejournal.com/). Feedback and concrit is love.

Leo hadn’t worn a tie, a normal necktie, in months. His time away--day after day of missions over black, lush jungles in standard-issue fatigues--had stolen that piece of his previous life, but he decided, when he booked an appointment to meet an old friend, he’d wear an old uniform.

The assistant, on her way out of the office for the day, motioned toward a closed, polished door, and with a glance at the placard beside the frame, Leo rolled his shoulders, raised his fist, and knocked.

In an instant, he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Quick, pounding steps, as if someone were barreling across the room. Leo leaned back for another look at the placard to double-check the name as the door opened wide to reveal a spacious office lit by the low afternoon sun.

"Mr. McGarry?"

An unfamiliar voice drew his attention down; a boy--no older than six--peered up at him with raised eyebrows and a tuft of brown hair piled on his head like an oversize cotton ball.

“My dad’s still on the phone, but he said to let you in when you knocked. He said he was expecting you.”

Leo raised his head to see Noah at his desk with the phone to his ear. Even as he spoke, Noah nodded with flash of a smile and waved him inside.

Noah’s boy turned and rushed to offer a chair near the windows. “Here’s where you sit, Mr. McGarry.”

Leo followed, unable to suppress a smirk at the boy’s enthusiasm. "Well, thank you very much," he said, leaning down and reaching out to squeeze his narrow shoulder before easing into the chair. "You can call me Leo, okay?"

"Okay, Mr. McGarry. Um, sorry. Leo," he said, a lopsided smile on his face. "I'm Josh. This chair--” He paused to climb onto the room's second armchair. “--is mine."

Leo returned Josh's wide, toothy smile and waited as he settled in the chair. Josh slid a glossy magazine off the end table and onto his lap and, for a silent minute, busied himself as he flipped its pages. When Leo stole a second to turn his head for a sweep of the room, Josh asked, "Are you a soldier? Dad said you were in a war."

“Yes, I was," he answered, matter-of-fact. He met Josh’s eyes, burying the memories threatening to resurface, and added, “I’m an airman. I fly planes. Big planes.”

Josh considered this information for a moment, then shook his head, his nose crinkling. “I don’t think I’d want to do that.”

“No?” Leo asked, leaning on the soft leather arm of his chair. “You think you know what you want to do?” Across the room, Noah ended his phone call and abandoned his seat. They exchanged amused grins before Noah fetched two tumblers and a bottle of Glenlivet from a small cabinet beside the desk.

Leo looked back at Josh, who had lowered his head and turned the magazine for Leo to see. He pointed at a color photograph of the White House and said, “I want to work there.”

A broad smile spread across Leo’s face. “Well, kid.” He paused to accept the scotch from Noah as he returned to his desk. “My bet is that you’d do a better job than most of the people over there right now. They’d be lucky to have you.”

Almost thirty years later in a deserted storefront, Leo introduced Josh to the rest of the campaign’s staff. Afterwards, he recalled the boy who opened his father’s door and reached up to squeeze Josh’s broad, solid shoulder. “Glad you’re on board,” he said, the hint of a smirk on his face. “We’re lucky to have you.”  



End file.
